


The Power of a Story

by Arenal



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arenal/pseuds/Arenal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't have to fight for the right to go to the opera anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of a Story

**Author's Note:**

> I'm immensely fascinated by the idea that stories have power and can take on a life of their own. This was an idea I had relating to that.

I am once again sitting in a theater, watching my favorite musical—Les Misérables. The passion of it, the beauty—it touches me so deeply. I have never left a performance of it with dry eyes. 

But this time, I am slightly distracted. There is a young man sitting very near me, and I can tell instinctively that he is even more emotional than I, but he does not show it readily. His expression is fiercely proud but also deeply moved, as if he is watching an event that he knows well. When the barricade falls, so do my tears, but he winces and touches his chest for a moment. I wonder, perhaps, if he is a history student who has so thrown himself into his work that he feels as if he has lived it. 

I approach him after the lights come back on, wishing to discuss the show with someone who shares my passion for the story.

“So,” I say, “I see you were deeply engrossed in the performance. Was it not magnificent? The story is so powerful.”

And just for a moment, his beautiful, stern features tremble. “The people remembered,” he whispers hoarsely. “I cannot believe it—they remembered. It was said that the rebels would be forgotten by history, and now they are immortal. Of course it is magnificent; of course it is powerful. The story of freedom always is.”

He quickly composes himself and turns away, and I am left trying to figure out his strange words. I glance at him briefly as I leave. The theater lights shine in his golden hair, a single tear rolls down his marble face…and I wonder.


End file.
